Small Town Girl by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Rice
century in here, Flint dialed the number for his ex-manager's office and set his feet up on the battered oak desk. Putting his big clodhoppers anywhere else involved endangering overflowing wastebaskets or kicking file drawers spilling yellowed invoices.
"Darla, put me through to Ned right now, or I'll sue his pants off, and you'll be out of a job," he told the gum-smacking secretary who answered.
As soon as he heard Ned pick up the receiver, Flint launched into his tirade. "You lied to me again, Slick. The album is slated to hit the stores in August , and I have yet to see RJ's approval for a correction on that cover."
He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. He'd worked his heart out on the tunes for the record company's latest greatest star. He'd thought RJ was a friend . He'd given the lying, thieving bastard some of the best work he'd ever done. Maybe the last work he'd ever do. He had wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, not in a sleazy river of lawsuits and name-calling between ex-friends and ex-managers.
"Flint, you're bulldozin' mountains out of cesspools, son. The cover is fine."
"He left my name off! It's damn well not fine, and you know it!" Flint roared.
Startled by Flint's shout, the kid looked up so fast that he dropped his pencil. He puckered up, whether at the shout or the fact that the pencil had rolled under the desk, Flint couldn't determine. Grimacing, he tried to maneuver the long, curly cord of the phone around the tarnished brass accountant's lamp to reach under the desk.
In a lower voice, Flint continued his rant. "Tell RJ if I don't get credit on that album, I'm coming up there to cut him a new asshole."
Ned started more of his backpedaling bullshit. Fed up, Flint let the receiver dangle and crawled beneath the desk to retrieve the pencil from the dust bunnies.
He had a real bad feeling about lying scum like RJ. He had an ulcer shouting lawsuit every time he thought about the lyrics on that scrap of envelope RJ had passed off as his. In his experience, any man who could rip off a friend would cheat his own mother. That writing wasn't RJ's.
Grabbing the pencil, he started backing out from under the desk.
"Hide-and-seek, now why didn't I think of that?" called a melodious voice over his head. "The cafe has emptied out and I've come to retrieve Josh, but if you're having fun—"
"What's an asshole , Aunt Jo?" Josh asked.
Flint whacked his head against the desk coming up too fast.
All five feet six inches of blond bombshell beamed at him as he staggered up and fell into his desk chair, nursing his bruised head.
"Teaching the boy a new vocabulary, are we? How thoughtful." Without missing a beat, she scooped up the dangling receiver and hung up on Ned, abruptly cutting off the whining—whether intentionally or not, Flint wasn't about to guess. Joella looked like the kind who didn't get mad, but got even.
"C'mon, Josh, let's draw on the counter where Aunt Jo can help you with your letters."
"He's fine in here," Flint protested, annoyed at being caught in fatherly incompetence with a kid who wasn't even his own. His language skills had deteriorated from years of hanging out in bars.
Jo grabbed a new pencil from the desk and helped Josh out of the chair, ignoring Flint's protest. "Did George Bob give you the go-ahead for the back room?"
"I'm not sure it's a wise idea to open up when I'm not—"
"Mary Jean is great with the customers, and she needs the tips. You're not even paying her," she pointed out. "She's doing it for Eddie and the guys. If we had an espresso machine, you could make a fortune in the evenings."
"I'm not paying her?" Shocked, Flint got up and followed Jo to the front. "I could have the Feds down my throat for that. That's all I need, one more fight with the fu—" He cut himself off before he completed that word.
"Nobody cares what we do up here," she said with a dismissive wave. "As long as Mary Jean doesn't complain, who's to know? You're not running
"Darla, put me through to Ned right now, or I'll sue his pants off, and you'll be out of a job," he told the gum-smacking secretary who answered.
As soon as he heard Ned pick up the receiver, Flint launched into his tirade. "You lied to me again, Slick. The album is slated to hit the stores in August , and I have yet to see RJ's approval for a correction on that cover."
He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. He'd worked his heart out on the tunes for the record company's latest greatest star. He'd thought RJ was a friend . He'd given the lying, thieving bastard some of the best work he'd ever done. Maybe the last work he'd ever do. He had wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, not in a sleazy river of lawsuits and name-calling between ex-friends and ex-managers.
"Flint, you're bulldozin' mountains out of cesspools, son. The cover is fine."
"He left my name off! It's damn well not fine, and you know it!" Flint roared.
Startled by Flint's shout, the kid looked up so fast that he dropped his pencil. He puckered up, whether at the shout or the fact that the pencil had rolled under the desk, Flint couldn't determine. Grimacing, he tried to maneuver the long, curly cord of the phone around the tarnished brass accountant's lamp to reach under the desk.
In a lower voice, Flint continued his rant. "Tell RJ if I don't get credit on that album, I'm coming up there to cut him a new asshole."
Ned started more of his backpedaling bullshit. Fed up, Flint let the receiver dangle and crawled beneath the desk to retrieve the pencil from the dust bunnies.
He had a real bad feeling about lying scum like RJ. He had an ulcer shouting lawsuit every time he thought about the lyrics on that scrap of envelope RJ had passed off as his. In his experience, any man who could rip off a friend would cheat his own mother. That writing wasn't RJ's.
Grabbing the pencil, he started backing out from under the desk.
"Hide-and-seek, now why didn't I think of that?" called a melodious voice over his head. "The cafe has emptied out and I've come to retrieve Josh, but if you're having fun—"
"What's an asshole , Aunt Jo?" Josh asked.
Flint whacked his head against the desk coming up too fast.
All five feet six inches of blond bombshell beamed at him as he staggered up and fell into his desk chair, nursing his bruised head.
"Teaching the boy a new vocabulary, are we? How thoughtful." Without missing a beat, she scooped up the dangling receiver and hung up on Ned, abruptly cutting off the whining—whether intentionally or not, Flint wasn't about to guess. Joella looked like the kind who didn't get mad, but got even.
"C'mon, Josh, let's draw on the counter where Aunt Jo can help you with your letters."
"He's fine in here," Flint protested, annoyed at being caught in fatherly incompetence with a kid who wasn't even his own. His language skills had deteriorated from years of hanging out in bars.
Jo grabbed a new pencil from the desk and helped Josh out of the chair, ignoring Flint's protest. "Did George Bob give you the go-ahead for the back room?"
"I'm not sure it's a wise idea to open up when I'm not—"
"Mary Jean is great with the customers, and she needs the tips. You're not even paying her," she pointed out. "She's doing it for Eddie and the guys. If we had an espresso machine, you could make a fortune in the evenings."
"I'm not paying her?" Shocked, Flint got up and followed Jo to the front. "I could have the Feds down my throat for that. That's all I need, one more fight with the fu—" He cut himself off before he completed that word.
"Nobody cares what we do up here," she said with a dismissive wave. "As long as Mary Jean doesn't complain, who's to know? You're not running
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